


Skepticism, and Other Descriptive Words

by theghostofenj



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Character Growth, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, canon compliance, canonic character death in later chapters, slight angst, sorta friends to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 18:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18761572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theghostofenj/pseuds/theghostofenj
Summary: Courfeyrac convinces Grantaire to start coming to meetings with Les Amis de L'ABC, and Grantaire gets enraptured by Enjolras, leading to a slight obsession with him and constant comparisons to deities. Once Grantaire sees Enjolras is human, however, how will their dynamic change?





	Skepticism, and Other Descriptive Words

**Author's Note:**

> hi friends, I'm finishing up with school and I want a nice fic to work on during study breaks, so here it is

The wind chilled Grantaire down to the bone as he walked along the Parisian side street. Courfeyrac had invited him to a meeting with a friend of his, mentioning something to do with rebellion. Grantaire couldn’t help but chuckle, his friend meant well by asking him to come along, but what place does a cynic have in a revolution aside from taking the piss out of it. Nonetheless, he agreed, spending time with his friends took the edge off the bleak reality he lived in. 

Grantaire was lucky, if you could call it that, to have a one room flat on the outskirts of Paris. It wasn’t much, and the man who owned the building put rent far too high in his opinion, but it was better than living on the streets, a reality that Grantaire knew all too well. He had a decent job, he was paid enough to keep some food on his plate and wine in his hand.

He chose not to go to school, a decision that came at the dismay of his parents. Art was the only thing he would like to do, and he would rather not sit through lessons of how it should be done, when he could spend his time asking what could be done instead.

As he continued his walk, Grantaire thought about the group he was on his way to meet. He knew some of his other friends would be there, Joly, Bossuet, and Bahorel to name a few. He also knew the names some of Courfeyrac’s friends, he had heard Courf speak about Combeferre in great detail, as well as an eclectic character named Jehan. He knew there were probably more and the thought of having to make small talk made him cringe, but it couldn’t hurt to spend one day talking with new people.

Finally, Grantaire made it to address Courfeyrac had given him. It was a cafe, the Cafe Musain as it said on the sign, and it had two floors, the first filled with patrons, and the second was where the meeting was being held. Grantaire climbed the stairs and looked out onto the scene before him.

Courfeyrac waved to him, smiling once he saw Grantaire arrive. Bahorel gave him a surprised but not unwelcome look, a look mimicked by Joly and Bossuet. Grantaire made his was over to Courfeyrac, standing by the table. 

“Ah, you’ve made it. I wasn’t completely sure that you would come!” Courfeyrac clasped Grantaire’s hand, pulling him into a hug. 

“What can I say, I’m a man of my word,” Grantaire said, letting go of Courfeyrac to turn to his other friends. He scanned the scene around him, catching the eye of a few unknown faces. 

To his left, Joly sat in a chair, talking happily with Bossuet and another man with long, fiery hair that was partly tied into a braid, while some strand stood framing his face. He wore a clearly worn in waist coat, topped off with a flower on his chest, and. His face was covered in freckles, and he stood tall and proud, his eyes sharp but not unkind.

At the table next to him Bahorel was deep in conversation with another man, who had the same red hair as the one talking with Joly, but his hair was cut short, and had more of a red tint to the short ends than the long orange waves falling down the other man’s face. He seemed happy enough, though seemed more subdued than the eccentric energy Bahorel was giving off as he talked.   
He sat in his chair with crossed legs, and a fan on his lap. 

Sitting next to him was another man who was lost in a book. His dark skin contrasted the other man’s pale complexion, and his hair sat in short, tight curls on the top of his head. He wore glasses that he kept having to push up onto his face as they were sliding down the bridge of his nose as he read. He dressed heavier than most in the room, choosing to keep his overcoat on while he sat, instead of leaving it at the door like the rest had. His warm brown eyes caught the light of the candles as they darted across the page, quickly gathering in the information before him. 

Finally, Grantaire’s eyes flicked to the center of the room, and he was left breathless as he stared at the man before him. He had golden blonde hair, long enough to go past his shoulders and was tied in a loose ponytail with a red ribbon, resting comfortably on his shoulders. His face was calculating but not cold, as he went over the notes he had in his hands, his lips mouthing the words before him. He had striking blue eyes, the kind of blue he’d only seen in the open sky of a field when he visited the south of France once. The man wore a red waistcoat, accented with gold fibers in it, and wore his white undershirt open at his neck, exposing his collarbones. A french flag was wrapped around his waist, resting happily on his hips. In all, he was beautiful, strikingly so.

Grantaire must have been staring pretty hard as Courfeyrac nudged him, and when he turned to face him, Courfeyrac was grinning. “So I see you’ve noticed our fearless leader, hmm?” 

Grantaire blushed but rolled his eyes, hoping Courfeyrac would think his red cheeks were just the trick of the light.

“That’s Enjolras, he’s quite something. I don’t particularly have a better way of saying that. You’ll see for yourself, once this gets started.”

Grantaire nodded, absentmindedly turning to back to look at Enjolras. He played it off by turning to look at the other unknown faces. “So who’s who, with the people I don’t know, obviously.”

Courfeyrac pointed at the man with the long hair talking with Joly and Bossuet. “That’s Jean Prouvaire, but he goes by Jehan or just Prouvaire most of the time. No one really knows where the nickname ‘Jehan’ comes from, but it’s just peculiar enough to fit his personality.”

“That’s Feuilly,” Courfeyrac said, pointing at the other red-haired man. “He’s similar in personality to Enjolras, though he comes from a much less well off family, so he’s a bit more grounded in reality. Still is a bit eccentric sometimes, I hear he has a sword at home, and he’s definitely a people person.”

“And then there’s Combeferre,” he said, pointing at the black man. “He works closely with Enjolras, mainly with the technical aspects of what we do here. I deal with the people, Enjolras leads, and Combeferre keeps us all grounded in reality.” 

Grantaire nodded, gazing across the room. Everyone seemed to have their own little place in the grand scheme of the group. There was that thought in the back of his mind that made him wonder, where would he fit in?

After a few moments, Enjolras called everyone to sit down, and the meeting began. As it turns out, with no surprise to Grantaire, when Enjolras talked, everyone listened, enraptured by his words. The tone of his voice commanded respect, and as he stood in the light of the candles surrounding him, he looked almost godlike. 

Enjolras gave a quick summary of the last meeting, apparently they had all talked about where to store ammunition without looking suspicious for having such a large arms supply. Something about that struck Grantaire as odd, they were just going straight to violence? He thought Combeferre was to be the voice of reason, why hadn’t he challenged that notion. 

Before he could stop himself, Grantaire raised his hand. Enjolras paused, looking slightly confused at his presence. “Yes?”

“This may just be because I haven’t had the pleasure of attending your meetings before now,” he began. “But why go straight to fighting? I understand that it’s necessary sometimes, but isn’t there a diplomatic option before hand?”

Enjolras looked confused, almost taken aback by Grantaire’s question. “Revolutions aren’t won with kind words.”

“I understand that, and I even agree with it, but before there’s a revolution, couldn’t there be an attempt with words. I’ll stand behind you if it goes sour, and I’ll let you say that you told me so as many times as you want, I just feel as though you’d be respected more if you didn’t come out guns blazing at the get-go.”

Enjolras made a sour face, as though he had bit into a bitter lemon. “Who are you? If you’re going to come here to challenge my views, nay, our views, I’d at least like to know who I’m speaking to.”

“The name’s Grantaire, but R works too. And don’t worry, I’d challenge anyone without them knowing me.” 

“Well Grantaire, I see your point, but I have to respectfully disagree. The people have tried diplomacy before and not once have we been listened to. Until this government is completely democratic, we must do what is necessary to get there.”

Grantaire held his hands up, a symbol of peace. “As I said, I understand that I haven’t been here to understand. I just want to make sure that I agree with the methods of your revolution before I get myself involved. Besides, Apollo, you make a compelling case.”

Enjolras froze at the nickname. “What did you call me?”

“Apollo. It suits you, you have the look of the god Apollo as described in myths, I must say.” Grantaire gave him a winning smile, but Enjolras just frowned. 

“I refuse to take a title of a god, in this room we are all equals.” Enjolras held his head up in defiance. 

“Whatever you say, Apollo.” Grantaire grinned at him and sat back in his chair. He watched as Enjolras’ face twisted as emotions flickered across his face, rage, confusion, disbelief, and finally, a bitter acceptance.

“If you insist on acting this way I hope you’ll at least make yourself useful when the time comes, before that would be even better,” he said, turning his attention back to his notes.   
Enjolras continued on with the meeting, though Grantaire wasn’t too focused on what he said. Courfeyrac was looking at him like he’d gone mad, and finally, Grantaire had enough.

“If you insist on watching me, you might as well make a better face.”

“I cannot fathom what must have gotten into you to do something like that. I’ve never seen Enjolras get rattled before.”

“He’s not just been around someone who’s willing to challenge him before. Besides, I think it’s cute when he gets all flustered. I think I might just continue coming to these meetings of yours,” Grantaire smirked. 

Yes, he thought, looking at Enjolras, he just might have to continue.

**Author's Note:**

> follow my tumblr @probably-enjolras


End file.
